The art practice of AMcE artist Vander McClain centers on the act of discovery. Through solitary ventures into remote, geographically diverse areas, he collectors, documents, and paints organic materials and locales unique to the area. Although each trip is methodically researched, he is initially essentially foreign to each new terrain.
Originally from Oklahoma, Vander’s venture preference has been the American West, from the mountains and canyons of New Mexico to the verdant wilderness of Oregon. He is currently living in Germany, so his first love of the great American expanse has been transposed to areas more central to Europe. Despite his distance from his beloved West, he finds significant indications of shared evolutions within the varied topographies.
Here we share his thoughts from and incredible photographs of his trip to the Icelandic highlands. View the resulting artwork here.
“This past fall, I spent several weeks exploring Iceland, avoiding the usual tourist routes to find inspiration and capture new images.
Most of my time was spent in the Icelandic Highlands—a vast, desolate stretch of volcanic desert marked by ice sheets, glaciers, winding rivers, geothermal activity, and multi-colored mountains.
I traveled the rugged F-Roads, Iceland’s unpaved mountain trails, where I carefully managed river crossings, fixed flat tires, and gazed at the twilight of Icelandic midnight.
I was drawn to the ‘in-between’ spaces—the quiet, overlooked areas between Iceland’s well-known natural wonders. Few venture there, and fewer still look closely. While the harshness of the landscape leaves little to discover, what remains holds a quiet, compelling beauty. These kinds of discoveries are central to my work.
Though Iceland’s flora and fauna are sparse, I was captivated by the Angelica plant, or Hvönn in Icelandic. While fly fishing near the Arctic Circle, I studied its geometric form and various life stages. Norse settlers, arriving in 874, used the plant for medicine, food, and rituals. Its history and structure stayed with me, influencing several studies I created.
One afternoon, I stood on a ridge overlooking the Vatnajökull ice sheet—a ghostly expanse of ice on the horizon. In that moment, I couldn’t help but imagine the Great Basin in the U.S. millions of years ago. The connection was striking. It felt like I was walking through a story of observation that had started long before and continues now in my work.”
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